Previously Fine Ideas
by Miz Delirium
Summary: An interesting night for Harry. First in a storm, and then indoors-- Who knew fetching some Ben and Jerry's could be so dangerous?


Disclaimer: These words, in this order, are mine. The character is not... Happy reading! : )

Previously Fine Ideas

Half of Harry Potter wanted to start a band- like every other teenage boy with black hair and thick-framed glasses. Another half wanted to stay under his thin, wearing blue blankets at the Dursley's and look over his schoolbooks. Another half yearned for the wind and wear and tear that only Quidditch practice would give.  
  
Another half knew that he had just become mathematically improbable.  
  
And so Harry just continued his walk to the store, trying, for today, to tune out his thoughts. Harry was in no hurry- Vernon had sent him out running for a pint of ice cream for Dudley to eat during wrestling, but Harry had no will to scamper home to a blaring television, or to piercing relatives. Harry walked past the little square parks and saw the children running up and down the slides. He passed his neighbors, nodding politely at them and their dogs.  
  
It was getting to be late in the evening when Harry finally reached his destination—a quaint, but unsurprising corner store sat next to the store that sold sandwiches in well fitting bags. Harry searched the store for the correct flavors, and was talked at and over by various customers and workers from the store. The weathered owner was a delightful small woman who looked ready for bed, already wearing a baby blue robe over her work clothes. Harry hurried and picked out a box of Chocolate Fudge Brownie ice cream, wondering what possible ingredient could make one pint of ice cream so expensive. The small woman, with shaking hands, took the ice cream, under-charged him, and winked very conspicuously. Harry blinked a few times, attempted to give her the rest of the money, but eventually was shooed out. He felt slightly deflated, but in a pleasant way.  
  
Outside, the temperature was perfect, but the wind was wild. Things were blowing everywhere, it seemed like the weather was suspiciously trying to build up to something. Harry noted the clouds that had piled in the sky while he had been indoors. The sky had turned from a dark blue into the color of an old book page, a kind of fading yellow. Everyone around him and down the block seemed to be getting the hint that it was time to take cover. No one moved as idly as before, and the children on the slides were being scooped up by anxious mothers. However, Harry checked his watch, and turned away from his home down the block. He didn't care what color the sky was- it wasn't every day that he got to spend time away from the Dursley's. So Harry continued on, largely oblivious to what kind of dangers the night, and the storms had waiting.  
  
Most of us have very clear maps in our heads of areas we have grown up living in. When we are young, the map is of our house and perhaps of where the good shady spots are in our backyards. When we get older (progress depends on how over-protective our parents were) our maps grows exponentially. Black spots are torn away and we learn the names of streets and blocks and which stores are on what corners. And Harry Potter had chosen this night to test the limits of memorized maps. It was this evening, of all of those it could have been, that he wandered aimlessly down streets and through alleys, past newspaper stands and fire hydrants painted many different colors. The streets were eerily empty, save for old copies of The Sun flying tumbling down the sidewalks. The sky grew darker yellow, but it wasn't until it was exactly the color of Grey Poupon that Harry stopped, dead in his tracks, and listened to the night.  
  
The wind was picking up again- but not the way it had before. This was a dangerous sort of wind, powerful and whistling. The kind of wind that did not mean flipping pages in a book, but flipping cars down the sidewalk. It sprinted through the narrow streets, and flew through Harry's over-sized tee shirt, and the bag with the ice cream nearly whipped out of his hand. The boy quickly decided that he'd had enough time outdoors, and, with difficulty, began to make his way back up Quarry's hill. Harry held his glasses to his face with one hand, then checked his time piece again. Funny, he thought, as he dodged the path of a runaway trash bin- five minutes ago, walking through a storm seemed like a good idea. Harry conceded with himself that he should ignore his inner monologue so often- apparently it contained his common sense.

Another gust of wind came, with a great, whistling noise. Un shut window shades fluttered and banged—flowers on the boulevard were practically uprooted. Branches swayed, leaves shook... and finally Harry could not hold on any longer, and lost his footing on the hill. He turned in time to see the ice cream pint, still wrapped in the bag, rolling down the block. Somehow, instinct decided to kick in, and Harry reached for his wand at the back of his pocket- not to use, but for safety. To know he could use it—letting out a breath, Harry realized it was safely tucked into his jeans. At this, Harry quickly tried to regain his footing, but this time he stayed lower than before. He no longer planned to make it to the Dursley's- if only he could get to any kind of shelter, he would be happy... But all of the houses on this block were old, brick things- all attached perfectly to each other in a great line, like cars in a traffic jam. Harry tried to avoid thinking of the phrase "at least it can't get any worse." Because he knew what would happen if he did—it would get worse. More specifically, the rain held in the clouds that were holding their breath would dump down on him. Not only would he be crawling up a hill facing an invisible enemy- well, he'd also be wet. Unfortunately, it is fairly difficult to not think of phrases you are specifically trying to not think of. And so by Harry's weakness of will, it began to pour.  
  
But this was Quarry hill, and so there was a light at the end of the tunnel. You see- at the top of Quarry hill, there is a small pub that is not interconnected to the other brick houses. It is practically the same build- the same height, and the same shape. However, it is several feet away from the line of houses, and would provide a thin, dark space of adequate shelter from the wind. Conveniently enough, there is also a side door leading out of the pub and into the alley. It is equipped with a small, half-way peeled onning to provide shelter from the rain.  
  
Harry had been in a similar situation on Quarry hill, though it was now years ago. He had been on the run from Dudley and his cronies when having to duck into the alley before. And he still remembered the kind of safety and darkness it could provide. He straightened up some, filled with hope- and faced the wind. Nearing the top- as he was about to turn into the safety of the alley- something flew at him. To his surprise, he caught it- and without thinking, he clung to it, and flung himself into shelter. His glasses stained with steam and rain, Harry stumbled to the door- he looked above him, and realized he was safe. Still breathing heavily, Harry leaned himself against the old door... He noticed, though as an after thought, that he had been carrying something. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust- but it appeared to just be an old hat. As Harry allowed his mind to refocus, he realized it was a bit brighter than most hats he normally saw on muggles. It was very bright, in fact—he had in his hands, a vivid lime green bowler. Strangely enough, seeing the hat stirred emotion somewhere in Harry. There was something familiar about it. He sniffed, and looked around, wandering about it's owner. He was just about to drop the hat on the ground when suddenly- the door that he had been putting all of his weight on opened. Harry fell backwards into the security of the building... there was a smack as he hit the hard wood floor, and a definite stir in the room where he fell.  
  
Slowly, Harry opened his eyes. When he did- he could make out three wands pointed straight at his chest. What to do? What could he do? Who were they? Harry swallowed hard, and clutched the hat.  
  
"boy-?" one of the voices above him spoke with cool, controlled anger. "Get to your feet." Harry paused for a moment, trying to collect himself- and in that moment, he was fetched up by two men- one grabbing either arm. As he was flung to his feet- Harry couldn't help but notice the watch on his arm—nine minutes ago--- going out in the rain had seemed like a perfectly fine idea.


End file.
